Beginnings
by WayneMoses
Summary: Set two weeks after The Great Game. Jenny Bell moves to London to help out, Sherlock meets her and gets a whole new take on the big bad world. Sherlock romance with my own character. Sorry for the terrible summary.
1. Chapter 1

Title- Beginnings.

Set two weeks after -The Great Game-

Romance- Sherlock/OC

I'm not sure why I let my brother talk me into it. Granted, he seemed to come up with the most insane ideas as far as my career goes, his imagination was almost endless. Being a criminal profiler, also known as a criminologist, was both exciting and taxing at the same time. Getting into a killers head or trying to hunt one down made my life exciting but also incredibility stressful.

I remember my mother telling me if I didn't end up here (which surprised her) she thought the height of my accomplishments in life would be the fact that in high school I worked at a Lucky Mart and stopped someone from shoplifting. Thanks mom.

What my brother had finally talked me into was getting into an airplane at 3am in hot LA and landing in London sometime later. There was a program in place where certain areas of law enforcement could do something of an exchange of sorts. It had something to do with goodwill and training, to see how other areas in the world do investigations. I only glanced at the paperwork James, my brother, had me sign. I was going to be living in London for a set amount of time, I think it might have said a year, and someone from there would move here. I know my brother has a few contacts in London so trying to get me in over there was somewhat of a breeze for him. I guess there are a few perks when you work for the F.B.I.

For most of the 10h flight I was sleeping or reading, It was roughly 6:00pm when we landed, London time that is. My body may want lunch but dinner it would be having. I landed in London Heathrow Airport right on time. After groggily getting my things together and waiting in the checkpoints I found myself sitting alone waiting for my ride. The small sandwich and coffee I had filled my system with a small amount of energy that I knew wouldn't last long.

With those few moments I walked into the restroom to freshen up. My jeans were new, just purchased for this adventure away from home. They were black and went nicely with my gray, knitted sweater I picked up. The sweater hung from my thin 5'4 frame making it look bigger than the medium it was. Looking at my reflection only made me frown slightly. My light blond hair was tossed about my head like a windstorm had its way with me, my dark blue eyes looked slightly worn and tired, slight darkness around them made me feel more sleepy than I really was. I took a moment to wash my face and freshen up with some makeup. I put a thin layer of light red lipstick on my full lips, no blush was needed, my face seemed to always have a healthy glow. I picked up my things and went back to waiting. The shock of things wasn't as bad as I had anticipated. I think I would form some kind of shock if they didn't speak English, or better yet didn't have chocolate.

I only ended up waiting maybe 15 minutes tops before I saw a cab pull up, someone jump out and then hurry over to me. He had longer hair, dark and slightly greasy, beak-like nose with eyes too small for his face. When he introduced himself his voice came off whiny and childish.

"Are you Jennifer Bell?" he asked, slightly out of breath.

I nodded, standing while raising my hand.

"My name is Anderson, I've been asked by DI Lestrade, to come fetch you."

He shakes my hand rather weakly then drops it right away.

"I would have been here sooner," he says as he reaches down, picking up one of my bags, "but we had a case and I wasn't able to get away on time."

I nodded quickly, "Of course, I understand how work can be." By this time he had gathered two of my bags leaving me the third and my personal bag, he was now turned from me and walking to the parked cab. He twisted his head back while loading the cab.

"I hope you don't mind me having you dropped off at your loft, it's been a busy night and I need to get back." I could tell how he spoke he was really was rushed. He seemed bothered having to even speak to me.

"No problem Anderson." I said.

While I got inside the cab that was waiting Anderson hailed another. He was gone for a moment before leaning over to talk with me.

"I'm sending you to your flat. Get rested and someone will get a hold of you tomorrow morning around 8am." Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a brand new cell phone and handed it to me. "take this, it's all set up for you by the yard. This card has the Mobile number on it. Have a good day." With that he backed away from me and leaned to the driver. "She needs to go to 221B Baker Street." He handed some money to the driver and off he went into the night. The driver started up and we were off.

I dozed off between the drive from the airport and my new apartment, wait I mean loft. We arrived and the driver had helped with my bags. Walking to the door I knocked. It was only a few moments later I heard a shuffle behind the door before it popped open. There before me stood a wonderfully pleasant looking woman. Her eyes only hit me for a heartbeat before her hands shot up in what seemed like joy.

"Oh hello you!" her voice was filly with excitement. "I'm Mrs. Hudson dear, let me help with those bags."

In a flash we had my bags inside. She shot ahead of me down the small, narrow hall to a door at the very end.

"This place will be for you dear, some things came in just this morning for you. I've already put them inside."

We managed to fit my items into the small flat. There was a fireplace and some shelves for books. Other than that it was empty. Small windows lined the far wall, very small kitchen and what looked like a door leading to a bedroom and a bathroom. Turning to her I smiled.

"I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself, I'm Jenny Bell." I held out my hand to her and she warmly took it.

"I know who you are dear! I've spoken to your brother!" Her voice was so warm and kind.

Boxes took up most of the room by the fireplace, told me they were sent here by my brother. Must be some items from home.

"Are there other people living here as well? I noticed on the door it says my address is 221A, are the other flats filled?"

She turns to me, soft smile of her face. "Yes dear, two others at the moment. Mr. Sherlock and Mr. Watson. Tho, they had a bit of an accident a few weeks ago so there not going to be out and about much for a little longer." She patted my shoulder and walked past me to the door.

"I will get you a cup of tea, let yourself get settled in dear. I must warn you, he has been rather upset this week so don't let the violin music bother you too much." with a smile she was out the door.

I sat down on one of the boxes and gazed around the room.

"The violin music?" I asked myself out loud.

Chapter one/Intro done!

Hope it was well, I've never done a fanfic before, only my own writings. Any and all comments are welcome. Hope my English was okay!


	2. Chapter 2 Hands

Thanks so much everyone for the wonderful encouragement! Hope you like this chapter~!

Chapter two- Hands.

He clasped his hands together so hard the tips of his fingers turned white. His dark, chestnut hair hung over the edge of the sofa he was currently resting on, his light blue eyes were pressed shut, dark lashes almost invisible. His dark blue night shirt and pants were covered by a red robe untied. His normally flawless skin was bruised and cut. His face alone had 35 stitches; a nice neat line going from his forehead down the left side of his cheek, the rest of his face had a scattering of bruises and scrapes. His left arm was badly beaten, the blast had tossed him backwards like a rag doll and he landed on his left side, that's where most of the damage had been. Sherlock's hands were still pressed together when he opened his eyes, they darted around the room for the hundredth time searching for anything to ease his mental state.

For the last two weeks the only things that went through his mind were Moriarty and the fact he was able to get away. Sherlock was sure that when he pulled that trigger the blast would right kill them all. There wasn't really any other way to go about it, John had nodded in agreement to pull the trigger, that had eased Sherlocks mind enough that he went ahead and pulled. Despite John being slightly closer he walked away in better condition that Sherlock himself, he only had some bruising and not a stitch or broken bone was found. Moriarty, he wasn't sure if he had walked away or was carried by one of his lackeys, but he had made it out, even sending the police department a letter simply saying:

_Better luck next time._

_M_

Over and over his mind kept playing it, the pool the gun, could there have been something in the water or perhaps something Moriarty had worn? Was there something he missed? Any clues to what Moriarty might be up to next? It didn't help that D.I. Lestrade took him off all case work for one month due to everything that happened; he had told him this traumatic event, despite what both Sherlock and John told him, might take time for Sherlock to heal. Sherlock had snorted while in Hospital bed that there was a diminutive amount of things that left it's mark on him, Little did Lestrade know that letting him sit was worse than if he had died from the blast.

Sherlock could feel his brain melting away even as he slept, he spent most of his day using Johns computer to research anything and everything he could. He even broke into the police computers just to see what was going on. They still had no leads on Moriarty. Sherlock had even found out that the Detective Inspector had someone coming in from the states to help investigations. Ridiculous. The last thing they would need would be some outsider of lesser intelligence invading. It was bad enough he had to deal with every other living human in London, bringing in someone from the states just made it worse. Not to mention Lestrade told him he had to make a statement of that night and that someone would be there to do so. All Sherlock could hope was that it wouldn't be Anderson or Donovan that did the statement, Lord knows when he hears them speak not only can he feel himself lower in I.Q he feels as if it might stay permanently. Not to mention the smell of Andersons deodorant made his nostrils melt.

Sherlock sat up quickly ignoring the pain that shot over his body. He was going to rot if he didn't do something. John was out at the moment getting groceries and shouldn't be back for another hour or so, so when he heard a cab pull up he decided he needed to poke at it. He already knew that someone would be moving in, Mrs. Hudson had told him two days ago that a girl would be renting the lower flat, when he asked her for more information she simply offered to make him more tea. Rubbish. Sherlock had even tried to open one of the boxes that came in for the new tenant but Mrs. Hudson was too quick and took it right from his hands.

Despite the pain Sherlock went to the window and looked out. He saw a blond woman, late twenties early thirties get out of the car. She had long light blond hair pulled up to the top of her head, it didn't look like she had colored it, from what he could make out her eyes were a green of some kind, she was thin, her jeans and sweater hung off her body, but she was by no means weak or overly thin. She had three blue suitcases; she must work out because she lifted them with ease out of the back, her posture was good and she seemed confident of herself, looking the driver in the eyes and giving him a firm shake of the hand before he left. Her red lips held a light smile; she seemed tired but aware of her surroundings. She was what some people might consider beautiful, even skin tone and girlish figure despite her thin frame. Sherlock could see her eyes pass up and down the street and sidewalks; she seemed to do it without thinking of it, as if she did it everyday for her job.

"Maybe she is in security…" Sherlock mumbled aloud, he brushed his hair back from his face and leaned away from the window. She had stepped out of sight so he walked to his door that was never shut, to hear any part of the conversation he could. He heard her knock on the door and a moment later Mrs. Hudson opened it. He heard her offer to help take the blonds bags to which the blond said nothing, Sherlock assumed she must have nodded in agreement because in a flash she was inside and to the back of the hallway. He heard the jumble of keys before the opening of the door. From this far away Sherlock was unable to hear a word of the conversation. With a growl Sherlock backed away from the door. His blood was boiling; he could hardly stand being in his skin or this house or anyplace. His mind was rotting. He heard Mrs. Hudson shut the door below and go into her own flat, Sherlock bet money she was making the new tenant tea. An hour had past, Sherlock received a text from John telling him he would be home soon, he stopped to say goodnight to Sarah. After he replied that he didn't really care where John was just not to forget the biscuits, he tossed his phone across the floor while contemplating doing an experiment on John that would require a pint of blood and some hair samples. With that Sherlock marched across the room as best he could, picked up his violin and proceeded to play for the next four hours.

**There should be maybe, one update a week unless I feel up to it! Thanks again for the wonderful words!**


	3. Chapter 3 Meeting of the Minds

**Thank you again everyone! I'm trying my best to make this an interesting story! I'm just trying to make introductions as smooth as possible. I know I said I wasn't going to update but one time a week but I already have more ready to post so I thought I might as well, thanks again!  
><strong>

Chapter 3. Meeting of the Minds.

The alarm went off too soon for my personal liking, I was still reeling from the orchestra above me that seemed to last forever, every pound of my head sounded like the strings of a violin, the screeching and fierce sounds played by someone who was filled with a hunger that couldn't be fulfilled. I pulled the red covers off myself and stayed put for a few more minutes, making sense of where I was. I had a few moments last night before bed, and before the music started, to get things around and open some boxes. My brother had been kind enough to pack me bed linens, cooking supplies and a few other necessities. For some reason he even packed a picture of himself with his cat, lovely Christmas photo.

After showering and getting around I managed to find something suitable to wear that didn't make me come across too pretentious or shabby. I ended up pulling my hair into a bun and putting on my best black work pants with my matching blazer top, a green shirt under pulled it all together. After a quick peek into the mirror I decided that was as good as it was going to get with lack of sleep and jet lag. I never really worried about what others thought, not that I don't want to make a good impression, it's just easy to separate myself from those around me. Part of my job is getting into the head and thinking like a killer, on some cases I would spend weeks alone in a deep depression, the thoughts of not only the killers but the bodies they left behind would fill every moment of my day. One time my brother attempted to get me a dog, thinking it would cheer me up but the damn thing ended up pissing all over my house so I gave it back.

I checked my newly acquired phone, time was 725am. I had a short while before someone would ring of me so I spent the remainder of my time adding the necessary numbers to my phone and fixing up my place a bit.

That is before an echoing voice made me jump in my skin.

"Mrs. Hudson!" boomed a deep voice from somewhere outside my room. It felt as if the walls would break down and the sky fall. I quickly walked to my door and cracked it slightly. My body was pressed to the wall to the side of the door, one eye peeking out. There wasn't a soul outside nor near the entrance door. I quietly pulled open my door a few more inches.

"Mrs. Hudson," came the voice again, slightly less jarring than before but still as forceful, "I do wish you would stop taking my skull." There was a pause, "And where are my eyeballs?"

I pulled open my door a slight more and stepped out, peering upwards while trying to remain as invisible as possible.

"Now Sherlock, I told you keeping those eyes just isn't right now days." Mrs. Hudson's voice was calmer than I would have expected having someone just yell about eyes and a skull, she seemed rather used to it, as if it was something that has happened many times before. This must be the same tenant who likes to try, as I would call it, to play the violin.

I heard her small steps making their way down the stares as she continued to talk to this man named Sherlock.

"I think you need to be resting dear, go back and try and sleep. Make you feel better!" She sounded concerned for whoever this man was, I knew the name only because she had mentioned it last night.

"Mrs. Hudson you can't expect me to rest down like a dog when there is a world out there...!" the last bit of his yelling was punctuated with the slamming of a door.

I quickly stepped backwards into my room and silently closed the door. Right at that moment my phone that I still had in my hand rang. Without me realizing it the time was now 801am. I jumped slightly before picking up.

"Hello, this is Bell."

"Good morning Ms. Bell, this is D.I. Lestrade, I'm out the front here to pick you up." His voice came across the phone slightly loud, I need to adjust the volume on this damn phone. I answered him quickly and hung up. I gathered a coat and my purse and walked out the door. The hallway was silent.

Stepping out onto the walk I spotted a man standing next to a cab pulled over. Reaching out his hand he introduced himself.

" D.I. Lestrade." he said, smile on his face, his peppered hair was sticking up slightly. He was wrapped in a long, dark pea coat. His smile seemed genuine, his hand firmly clasped mine. It was a good handshake, not pathetic like that man, Anderson, last night. Around his eyes were dark, I was betting it was a late night out, worry lines littered his face.

"hello nice to meet you."

He walked me the short distance to the car and opened the door, before getting inside he turned to me and smiled. "are you ready for your first day?" The only thing I could do was smile back and nod.

I felt my insides do a small jump, I may not hold the weigh of the world on my conscience but I don't want to piss anyone off or be a loss of time to someone. I know my brother wouldn't send me out here thinking I wasn't able to do the job, but at this moment my insides thought otherwise.

We got inside the cab and drove off, hello streets of London.

* * *

><p>He was nearly falling out the window he was pressed so hard to it. John was walking into the kitchen to put some tea on when he turned to Sherlock, "Why are you pressed to the window Sherlock?" He asked, oddly in the many, many months they had been living together John still seemed to ask the most pointless questions. With a sigh Sherlock rapped his head upon the window one last time before stepping back. A million more thoughts were buzzing in his head, the question that John had asked entered and left like a breath in the wind. The only obvious answer would be that she was the person coming from the states to help out. That would be the only reason he could think of as to why Lestrade would even bother to pick someone up at this time of day in the middle of the week. She had taken the time to present herself, dressing in a nice suit but still not making up her face or doing something crazy with her hair, maybe she was confident or maybe she lacked the proper tools. In the morning light Sherlock could make out her eyes, he was mistaken before, they were a blue not a green. That being decided upon Sherlock turned around looking at the doorway. He could simply walk down the steps and peek inside, it's not like it would be hard to pick a lock, he had done it many times before. In his boredom he liked to pick the lock on Johns bedroom door just to see what he was up to, hardly anything interesting in there, even his taste in porn was typical, spunky redheads or something to that effect. John must have seen something in his face because he was now standing next to the doorway looking right at him.<p>

"Sherlock, I know that look." He took a few steps forward before stopping. "You need to rest mate, you know you should be sitting down a little more."

Sherlock looked at him and threw his hands into the air, snorting loudly.

"do you really think I can take a full month off John? I'm not built to just stand here and make tea and play house. My mind it built to break and rip things apart, I can't sit and be calm!" his arms waved about as he yelled, John leaned back.

"Well you can't help that now can you? You have three more weeks before they will let you back on."

Three months he thought. Snorting again Sherlock walked to the sofa and slammed himself down. Not even Mrs. Hudson giving him back his eyes would make him pop out of this mood. The ache of his body screamed with the pain in his mind, people didn't seem to understand that to Sherlock this was his death, the day in and day out things that others found wonderful he hated. Even dating seemed pointless, there would come a time in every relationship where nothing new would happen, people fall into habits and routines. The same old thing, every day. Deadly, boring, pointless. It was hard enough finding someone interesting enough to talk to let alone date.

At least having John around made him feel a part of something going on in the world, He would never tell him, but the only real friend he ever had was the doctor. He was the only one who spent this much time with him and didn't leave. John was dependable, he had saved his life in more ways than one. As much as he hated to admit it, Sherlock had found that he really did enjoy sharing the flat with him, or as much as someone like Sherlock could enjoy something at all. Sherlock had hated the feeling inside when he woke after the bomb blast, not knowing if his only friend was still alive, the pain of worry was new to him. Right after the explosion the last thing Sherlock remembered was John leaning over him, yelling his name.

As fast as those thought filled his head they were gone, and once again his mind started to whirr and twist, trying to think of something, anything to pass the time.


	4. Chapter 4 On the Eve of Something new

**The first part of this chapter is by far the worst thing I have ever written. Sorry! This will be the last real introduction chapter, the real story will then begin. Thanks again, sorry for the typos and bad grammar here and there! **

Chapter 4- On the Eve of something new

The coffee ran in my veins like a train, I felt a little more like myself. Lestrade had taken me all over, showing me places and people. I wasn't going to remember but it was nice to see things, get a feel. He kept apologizing for having me out so soon after I got here, but today was the only day he was free.

I told him that was fine.

It was noon by the time we made it to St. Bart's, the last stop of the day he said. When we walked into the morgue I saw a girl working on someone. Her hair was pulled up out of her face and her pink lips pressed together, despite the mask she had on to protect her from the bodily fluids, I could tell she was incredibly adorable. He small nimble hands were cutting open the chest of someone on the table. Lestrade spoke, his thick voice echoed in the large room.

"Molly, I have someone here for you to meet." He stepped backwards and held out his hand towards me,

"Jenny Bell this is Molly Hooper."

Turning to us she took a step back from the body, she offered her hand but quickly pulled it back, her gloves were bright with blood.

"I don't suppose you want all that over your hand." she said, small smile on her lips, for a moment she stood there looking at me then her hands, hesitating as if she might take them off to shake my hand.

I smiled "No no no, please don't worry about it. Shake my hand some other time, Molly!" She smiled at me and laughed, she seemed slightly nervous; her laugh was a little forced.

"Oh!" she said, realization hitting her voice, "you are the girl here from the states!"

I laughed a little at her reaction and smiled, "Was it the fact that I look completely lost or the accent?"

"Both!" she said quickly. Right away her cheeks turned a shade and her head shot down embarrassed. She looked up quickly and started stuttering.

"I didn't mean… I wasn't trying to say…"

"Molly, please, it's okay. It's totally true! I'm still getting over the lag and lack of sleep. This person in the building I'm staying in feels the need to play the violin all night, their not even that good at it!" I laughed a little at the end of my sentence, but Molly just looked at me, first with a smile and then a bit puzzled.

I glanced between her and Lestrade, he spoke first, clearing his throat.

"She is staying on Baker Street Molly, 221B Baker." She looked at him and then back to me, blinking quickly.

"Staying… with Sherlock, in his flat?" She looked at me, over the course of a moment her face went from confusion to jealousy.

"Not with John and Sherlock Molly, the flat below, Mrs. Hudson was kind enough to let her stay for free." Lestrade said, his voice was soft.

"Oh…" she said, her voice trailing. She looked embarrassed and looked away from me to her feet, I was lost as to why she was concerned. I guess I should take a clue from the emotion in her face before, she must have a crush on that atrocious musician.

Lestrade rubbed his hands over his face before turning to me.

"That being said Jenny; we need to talk about your first assignment. Molly, thank you for your time. We must be off." I glanced to Lestrade.

"Yes, of course."

Turning to Molly I smiled at her. "Nice meeting you Molly, hope we have more time to talk later sometime, maybe you can show me the ropes of the city."

She looked up at me, the embarrassment washed from her face with a meek smile.

"Oh that sounds nice. Pleased to have met."

Lestrade turned from her and led me back out the door. It was close to 130 when we stopped for the day, the paperwork he said, was getting a mile high and he needed to get on top of it. We ended up at his office where he told me just what he wanted me to do for my first real assignment.

"Now I know you might not fully understand how we do things over here, I know it isn't completely the same but the law is the law. I had a letter from your brother backed by a lot of important people agreeing to have you come over here."

He held up the letter in his hand, there were so many pages it looked more like a short story. He continued.

"You are known to be good at getting into the heads of people while investigating. Your list of crimes solved is as long as my arm." He shook the letter slightly and placed it on his desk.

"We have been tracking someone who goes by the name Jim Moriarty. He is a very dangerous man…"

Lestrade then proceeded to tell me just how this man nearly tore apart London, how he was a consulting criminal and how his arch enemy was none other than the man who lived in the same building as me, Sherlock Holmes.

I sat still adsorbing the information as it pored out of him. He was silent for a moment before calmly going on.

"We need someone with a talent to get into the heads of both men. It is very important that Moriarty be stopped; his madness goes much farther than London. We need someone with outside eyes working this..."

With a small and worn smile he leaned forward, resting his elbows.

"Moriarty will not stop. He will hunt and he will kill trying to get at Sherlock. We all know Sherlock is brilliant, that his mind works and never stops. He is a pure and utter genius, but he goes too far and risks too much. A lot of things are at stake if he comes back to work and has a breakdown or God knows what, I can't have that resting on me. I needed someone out of the loop to question him, someone who has never met him to evaluate him. His flatmate, John Watson, knows that I have requested someone in to help, I only called him this afternoon because Sherlock might find out." he sighed and leaned back into his chair.

I could see strain on his face more than ever now, his soft features looked tired.

"Your brother got you in here, at the request of someone else."

Clearing my throat I asked,

"Just who requested me?" It was a valid question, if I'm getting in to some real danger I might as well know what I'm getting into.

"Your brother is apparently very good friends with Sherlocks brother Mycroft Holmes. He requested you, other than that I'm not too sure. Something about government secrets and whatnot." He waved his hand in the air.

"You best be off to your flat. Today is Wednesday, I was wondering if you would be able to start in tomorrow? No need for you to come in here, but I do have some things I would like you to go over at your home. I know that just getting in yesterday and me expecting you to jump right in is a little much, time change and all."

I smiled at him and nodded. "Thank you. I want to do a good job, I want to help."

"I understand, we will get you a ride home. Let me get the files around for you to take. I will call you tomorrow and we can work more things out. If possible I would like you to meet up with Sherlock as soon as you get rested, maybe read up tomorrow and tackle him the day after.." I nodded again as he made arrangements for me to head to my flat.

He gave me the folders and paperwork before I left, while stepping into the cab he seemed hesitant to really send me off, I head him mutter something along the lines of "sorry to get you involved", I wasn't sure if he meant getting me in the way of Moriarty or Sherlock.

I was in the cab for no more than five minutes when my cell phone rang, the number was blocked but I picked it up anyway, could be important. I answered, but before I could say hello someone else spoke.

"Jennifer Ever Bell?" the voice on the other end asked. It was a mans voice, he didn't sound that old, early 40s I would guess. His voice was, what is the word... almost snobbish. Just hearing him speak made me think he had money.

"Yes, this is she." I answered, slightly hesitant.

"Ah good. I believe the Detective Inspector told you who I am."

A blank.

"This is Mycroft Holmes, Ms. Bell."

Ah, I see.

"Why yes Mr. Holmes, we just talked about you in his office."

I heard a muffled laugh before he said "Oh I know, I have ears everywhere." I completely believed him.

"This business with my dear brother must be handled... delicately." He was being very picky with his words...

"So you know my brother do you? How?" I ask, might as well get information out of the guy if we are going to chat.

To that I could almost feel his smile over the phone, it was present in his voice while he spoke.

"Ah your brother, much more concerned with the proper things in life than mine. Five years ago I found myself in a situation that required the utmost care, he took it upon himself to make things right with the F.B.I. No need for me to go into the boring details."

There was a break and then he said,

"When it was all said and done I gave him a gift, a rare breed of cat."

Ah... that stupid cat.

"But keeping on with things, my brother is much more... arduous than many of the other people you've had to work with." I could feel hardness slipping into his voice.

"He is very cantankerous, more so than anyone on this earth." He made a sniffing sound.

"I just want to make sure he is properly taken care of in his sensitive state."

I licked my lips and thought carefully of my words.

"I'm not going to toss him out a window I hope you know... and are you referring to the wounds he sustained during the blast at the pool?" I fumbled around in my bag for a pen and paper, anything to help out.

"No, the lack of work." After that it went silent, I could tell he was still on the other line but the whole feeling of this conversation was now different.

He spoke again.

"My brother is another breed of animal, Ms. Bell. He and I share the same... love of the game if you will, but sadly he doesn't get the same joy as I do out of... relaxation. I just need someone to check how his mind it doing, it will die I fear if he sits too long..." That sneer was back in his voice. I rubbed the bridge of my nose and sighed, loud enough he would hear.

"Look, Mycroft, I'm sure you trust my brothers judgment and let me reassure you I am very good at what I do. I will personally take very good care of your brother in his current mental state."

I could almost feel a smile peel on his lips.

"that's wonderful news, Ms. Bell. I see you have arrived at your destination. Have a good day, until next time." With that the line when dead and the cab had pulled to the curb of my building. I stepped out, walked to the door and went inside. I had a feeling that after today my life would somehow be changed.

* * *

><p>John was doing his best to avoid Sherlock. He spent most of the day in his room, door shut window propped open. It still didn't silence Johns phone, every five minutes, almost to the second he had received a new text message. It had only taken Sherlock three questions and twenty minutes to figure out John was hiding something from him. He had narrowed it down to the new tenant, the pretty<p>

blond, and something about an investigation. The same message over and over popped on Johns phone.

_You might as well come out with it_

_-SH_

John really did hate his phone. Sherlock knew he was on call so he had to keep it with him, on, at all times. John was having a hard time keeping the secret from Sherlock but he knew he had to, that or Lestrade would be at him for it. John ran his hands in his hair and walked around some more in his room, laptop open on the bed cup of tea cooling on the nightstand. He knew Sherlock better than most, knew that Moriarty had really tossed him for a loop. A long conversation wasn't necessary between the two to know they both wanted blood. More-so from Moriarty than Sherlock. When he had kidnapped John he didn't really say much other than his goal overall was to pull apart Sherlock, to make waste everything he could before he killed him. John believed him and he was sure Sherlock did as well. If he were really good John thought, he would have gotten Mycroft but sadly he was slightly more crafty than anyone could hope to know. Getting to Mycroft wasn't possible without blasting past god knows how many roadblocks, maybe Moriarty didn't want the hassle. John sighed and say back on his bed, outside the window he heard a cab stop. Right at that moment he heard his phone go off.

Damn you Sherlock.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you again everyone for reading, this chapter isn't as strong as I wished but I needed one more to lead up to Bell and Sherlock meeting. Thanks and much 3<strong>


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